BEVERLY BARTON - The Ex

He didn’t budge and made no move to release his protective hold on Annabelle.

“Please, don’t let me keep you from an important appointment,” Annabelle said. “I’ll be fine now. Surely they won’t follow me.”

His gaze caressed her, creating a fluttering sensation along her nerve endings. “Let me see you safely inside.”

Suddenly one of the newspaper reporters shouted out, “Ms. Vanderley, how well do you know Mr. Cortez? Obviously you don’t think he had anything to do with your cousin’s murder, right?”

What had the reporter said? Why would he think Mr. Cortez had any connection to Lulu’s murder?

Annabelle broke eye contact with Quinn and looked right at the reporter. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you and your cousin both have a romantic relationship with Mr. Cortez?” the same reporter asked.

When Annabelle glared at him, puzzled by his question, he added, “Seeing how chummy you are with Mr. Cortez and how he came rushing to your rescue, are we to assume that you two are close…friends?”

“I never—” Annabelle realized she wasn’t handling this media attack very well. Speechlessness and shock wouldn’t work in her favor.

“Ignore them,” Quinn whispered in her ear as he urged her into movement.

Escape was the best plan of action, so she allowed him to guide her toward the entrance.

“You didn’t kill Lulu, did you, Ms. Vanderley, when you found out she was sleeping with Quinn Cortez?” The blond reporter held out her microphone as she trailed behind Annabelle, Quinn and the dark-haired woman.

Annabelle turned and faced the reporter. “Go away. Leave me alone. I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care.”

“You don’t care that your cousin was murdered or that Mr. Cortez might have been involved?” Someone in the crowd shouted the question.

“Let’s go inside and get away from them,” Quinn said. “Then I’ll explain what’s going on.”

“Explain now.” She jerked away from him.

“Don’t give them a chance to exploit you and me and Lulu,” Quinn warned.

She stood still as a statue and glared at him. “Were you and Lulu…were you—”

He spoke softly, saying the words for her ears only. “Lulu and I were lovers. We had a date last night. I’m the person who found her body.”

Although stunned by Quinn Cortez’s confession, Annabelle managed to maintain her composure. Just barely. Odd how discovering her rescuer was one of Lulu’s numerous lovers actually bothered her. And the fact that he’d been the one who had discovered Lulu’s body concerned her. Hadn’t the reporters implied that Mr. Cortez might have been somehow involved in the crime?

Was she murdered by a lover?

When one of the reporters asked that specific question, she hadn’t paid much attention. But staring Quinn Cortez in the eyes, that question suddenly became of paramount importance.

“You—you discovered Lulu’s body?”

“Please, Ms. Vanderley, you don’t want to do this here, in front of the reporters,” Quinn said.

She nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

When he gripped her elbow, she instinctively jerked away from him, but when he and his female companion flanked her in a protective manner, she followed them straight into the building. The last thing she wanted was to give the reporters a show.

“They’ll follow us,” the woman said. “You two go on ahead and I’ll deal with them.”

“Thanks, honey.” Quinn bestowed a devastating smile on his companion. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

The woman eyed him speculatively. “Don’t get sidetracked.” She looked pointedly at Annabelle.

“I won’t.” Quinn grabbed Annabelle’s elbow and ushered her forward. “Let’s go now, while we can, and let Kendall handle things here.”

“Kendall?”

“Kendall Wells, my friend and lawyer.”

Lawyer? Did this man need a lawyer? Was he guilty of a crime? Was he a suspect in Lulu’s murder?

Despite her uncertainty, Annabelle didn’t protest his assistance in their escape from the media and willingly allowed him to lead her into the building and through the metal detectors. Neither spoke a word until they were securely inside the building and safe from prying eyes. When they reached the two banks of elevators across from each other, she pulled away from him, tilted her chin and narrowed her gaze. He faced her with the same devastating smile he’d used on his friend and lawyer. She punched one of the elevator UP buttons.

“You and Lulu were lovers?” she asked as they waited.

“Yes, we were.”

“You had a date with her last night and you found…you discovered her body.”

“That’s right.”

When the elevator doors to their right swung open, Anna-belle entered, punched the tenth-floor button and turned to Quinn, who was still at her side.

“Do the police suspect you were involved?”

“Probably. In any murder investigation, the victim’s closest relatives and friends are usually suspects, at least in the beginning.”

“You say that as if you—”

“I’m a lawyer,” he told her. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me. I’m famous. Or perhaps I’m infamous.” He grunted sarcastically.

When she stared at him, a tight knot of apprehension clutched her stomach muscles. “Lulu often chose influential, powerful men as her friends. And usually those men were quite a bit older than she was.”

“I’m thirty-nine. I suppose twelve years makes me somewhat older. But I know for a fact that she enjoyed her share of guys her age and younger.”

“You seem to know more about my cousin than I do.”

“You two weren’t close,” Quinn said. “At least not since you were kids.”

“She told you about me?”

He nodded. “Your name came up once or twice. Apparently she never mentioned me to you.”

“As you said, we haven’t been close in a very long time. Lulu and I chose very different paths in life.”

“You say that in a very superior manner, Ms. Vanderley. I take it that you didn’t approve of your cousin’s hedonistic lifestyle.”

The elevator doors opened on the tenth floor. Annabelle hadn’t even thought about the fact that they were both headed for the same floor, that they probably had the same destination.

Instead of responding to his comment, she asked, “Are you being interrogated concerning Lulu’s murder this morning, Mr. Cortez?”

After stepping out of the elevator, he placed his hand so that he could keep the doors from closing on her. “I’m being interviewed.”

“What’s the difference?” She stepped out of the elevator, taking every precaution to make certain her body didn’t so much as graze his.

Ignoring her question, he said, “I want you to know something, Ms. Vanderley.”

“What’s that, Mr. Cortez?”

Staring at each other, eye to eye, tension vibrated between them. Subconsciously, Annabelle held her breath in anticipation.

“I didn’t kill Lulu,” he said.

Annabelle swallowed. Why was it that she so desperately wanted to believe him? What possible difference could it make to her whether this man was innocent or guilty?

“I don’t think there’s any reason for us to continue this conversation or for us to see or speak to each other again,” Annabelle told him. “So I’ll take this opportunity to thank you again for coming to my rescue with those reporters, but—”

“I want to find out who killed Lulu just as much as you do. Lulu and I weren’t family, but we were friends. Close friends.”

“The way you and Ms. Wells are friends?”

Annabelle groaned mentally. Why had she asked him such a personal question?